“What do you eat for breakfast?” he asked.
I shrugged. “My stomach’s not awake yet. Ask me in an hour.”
“Do you always get up this early?” He yawned.
I nodded. “I try to get to school by seven so I can get ready for my day.”
“You need forty minutes to get ready for your day?” he asked, referring to the fact that school started at 7:40.
“No. I need an hour, but I refuse to get up any earlier.”
He chuckled. “Well you get ready and I’ll head to my room to sleep for another hour.”
“The perks of being a man. It takes me an hour just to shower and get ready.”
“Great. I’ll take breakfast in an hour. Your timing will be perf.”
I smacked him in the shoulder.
“Hey!” he protested, and I giggled.
He stood and stretched, revealing that perfect little patch of washboard stomach as his shirt lifted when his arms rose above his head. I almost moaned. What I wouldn’t give to taste that little patch of skin under my tongue.
He turned to exit my room, and then he stopped in the doorway and turned back to look at me. “Thanks for the image of you in the shower,” he said. Then he walked out of my room. “It’ll give me something to dream about for the next hour,” he said over his shoulder as he headed down the hall and toward his bedroom.
I grinned a giddy little grin as I blushed from head to toe, loving his words and thankful that he couldn’t see my reaction to them.
After my morning routine, I headed out to the kitchen. The only work shirt I’d grabbed from my closet at home, I realized a little too late, showed a little more cleavage than I was used to showing at work. I had been in such a rush to get away from Richard that I hadn’t really focused on the clothes I was packing. I paired the low cut black button down shirt with a gray pencil skirt and black heels.
I found some yogurt in the fridge a banana in the pantry. I was ready to go with time to spare, which meant I’d have time to stop at Starbucks on the way.
I decided to be a good roommate, and I went to wake my Jesse… I mean Jesse (not “my” Jesse – just Jesse)… to get his Starbucks order.
The door was open, so I peeked into his room. He was asleep on the bed; he was lying on top of his blankets on his back, and he’d stripped down to his boxer briefs.
Holy.
Fucking.
Hell.
Clearly he was having a good dream based on the bulge in his boxer briefs that I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of.
My brain suddenly turned to mush, and my thoughts became nonsensical.
That. Inside of me. Now.
God, I wanted to mount that pony.
I took a moment to appreciate the work of art sleeping before me. He really was something special. He looked just as rugged and sexy when he was asleep, and I allowed my eyes to slowly drag all the way from his feet, up his legs, to that delicious looking bulge, and up to his perfectly chiseled abdomen and that gorgeous tattoo. I stared at his chest for a moment, remembering how I’d slept on it the night before with a smile. And then my eyes traveled up to his face. He was somehow adorable and sexy and handsome all rolled into one alluring, gorgeous, tempting package.
I shook my head, warding off the dangerous thoughts, and I backed out of his room quietly. I didn’t want to disturb him, and I especially didn’t want him to know I’d seen his morning excitement, but he did need to get up and get his day started.
He was an adult, I reminded myself, who got along just fine before I showed up in his life. I glanced at the clock. On the one hand, I really wanted to sneak another peek at his fine form asleep on his bed. On the other hand, I needed to respect his privacy, and allowing myself to go in there and look would only throw the temptation right in my face. He wasn’t for me, and I needed to remind myself of that. So I took the coward’s way out. “Jesse?” I yelled from the shelter of the kitchen.
I heard a grunt.
“Jesse?” I yelled again, hoping I was being loud enough to wake him.
I couldn’t get the image of that body out of my mind.
That body that had kept mine warm for the entire previous night.
Sigh.
“Jesse!” I yelled once more.
“Yeah?” he mumbled.
“Get up!”
“What time is it?” His voice was groggy.
I glanced at the clock. “Six-thirty,” I said.
“Fuck,” I heard him mutter.
He walked out into the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing jeans and nothing else. Well, except presumably those boxer briefs under the jeans, although my imagination suddenly wanted to pretend that there was nothing under those jeans.
I tried to stop the drool from falling over the side of my lip.